


Catharsis

by MinervaNorth



Series: Chaos Theory [2]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Backstory, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Healing, Missing Scene, This one is more of bridging the gap between Hamartia and the next one, but it's definitely important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 10:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21444652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaNorth/pseuds/MinervaNorth
Summary: “For a while, we stay in touch. It’s all in letters, notes. We never call. It’s always on paper. After training at Fort Lee, he joins a bomb disposal unit in Afghanistan. I join DXS and move to LA. I still have the box of notes, letters, photographs from when he enlisted up until they just stopped.”In the aftermath of what happened in Istanbul, Angus MacGyver and AJ Harper struggle to maintain their relationship, their dangerous jobs, and their day-to-day lives. As AJ heals and Mac continues to work, they try to learn what it really means to find clarity, forgiveness, and growth.
Relationships: Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Chaos Theory [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1533221
Kudos: 6





	1. Mid-September

_MacGyver—_

_I’m out of the hotel and got myself an apartment. I guess this is closer to your neck of the woods? New address (in case you ripped the envelope) is:_

_AJ Harper  
_ _1046 Princeton Dr. Unit 210  
_ _Marina del Rey, CA 90292_

_Hope you’re doing okay in Basic. Sent a few things I wish I had when I went through. FYI, took the job, like you told me. Whatever happens now is on you._

_Just kidding. Good luck._

_Harper, March 31, 2009_

* * *

It’s been about a week and a half since I got home, since I left the hospital, and I’ve been alone for two and a half days. Okay, that’s a lie. Jill brought burgers and herself over last night, and she painted my nails. We talked about the book she got me. I’ve already read it. Literally. We talked about _books. _She actually painted my nails, and I let her.

They’re a deep midnight blue and I’m not sorry.

Since I’m still not feeling the best—a coma would do that to you—I find myself lulling to sleep on the couch, my leg encased in ice packs. I keep looking through the cookbook B gave me and laughing at the handwritten commentary, but I’m just exhausted and getting way too used to pain meds.

Luckily, I think I’m a bit tougher than most, but still. I don’t need addiction on my top attributes.

I grab one of my ice packs and put it on my ribs. It’s not as cold as it really needs to be, but it helps. It helps for me to stay calm. I’m relatively calm. I think. It’s better knowing that as soon as they’re home, I’ll know. I worry about them a little too much.

_Mac loves this casserole recipe,_ I read in the margins between my slipping eyelids. _Learn this, and you’re #wifematerial. Just saying._

But eventually, I’m waking up. I hadn’t realized I had fallen asleep. It’s getting dark already, so I set the book down and get up. It’s a process, one that ends up giving me a greater reward than I asked for as soon as I hear the door creak open. I’ve made it to the kitchen just soon enough to see the two of them come in. They both look a little wrecked, their bags slung over their shoulders: Mac’s shirt is untucked, while Bozer runs a hand over his face.

“You two look like you’ve seen better days,” I comment, as Mac drops his bag onto the floor at his feet.

“Hey, babe,” He says, closing the distance between the two of us. He hugs me loosely, and I do the best I can with the crutches, but he rewards me with a longer than usual kiss. When he breaks it, I almost lean into him for more.

“Rough one this time around?” I ask. Bozer gives me a half hug, so I give him a kiss on the cheek for his troubles. In response, he pulls me close once more before letting go. God, I love him.

Mac just lets out a groan, snatches his bag, and heads off to his room. Bozer grins forcibly and heads in down the hall, so I hobble towards Mac’s doorway. As soon as I make it, he points to the pile of clothes on his bed.

“Did you do my laundry?”

I make it to the clear side of his bed—our bed?—and settle into the pillows. The activity was enough to make me tired, but I won’t tell him that. “I was bored. I didn’t fold it though.”

He leans back down to me and rewards me with a kiss, a long kiss, one that makes me sink into the blankets when he pulls away.

“Thanks.”

“I should be thanking you,” I mutter as he flutters around. “Should I make a guess, or are you gonna tell me?”

“You know how much I hate heights,” he begins, unbuttoning his shirt. I’m half listening as he pulls it off, and then the henley underneath. It messes up his hair a little. “Dubai. It was not fun.”

“Dubai is never fun. Trust me.” I watch him move. It’s purposeful but annoyed. “You’re still freakin’ out, aren’t you?”

He tosses the shirts into his hamper with a little more force than necessary. “Why the hell does a building have to be that tall?” He says emphatically. I’m only half paying attention. “And why do bad guys always insist on going higher, even though there’s no way down?!”

Bozer pokes his head into Mac’s room, now in comfy clothes. “Hey, Gray—”

“Gray? What’s that about?” Mac says. He’s still jumpy, so it comes out a little sharp, but Bozer doesn’t seem to mind.

“Gray,” Bozer says. “She needed a nickname. Athena. Gray… gray eyes?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Mac says. “I like it.”

Bozer continues. “He’s still freakin’ out, isn’t he?”

I lean over to look to Bozer. “Still losing it. How long was that flight home?”

“Too long,” Mac grumbles.

Without another word, Mac slams shut the door of his bathroom, leaving Bozer and I to giggle on our own. He helps me to my feet, and we start towards the kitchen.

“I don’t care how freaked he is, I’m gonna need to eat,” he says, walking backwards down the hallway. I follow, not as fast, and not as enthusiastically, but I follow. “What you in the mood for?”

“Do you want take out, or do you want to cook?” I ask.

He just smiles at me again, raising his eyebrow at the open cookbook on the couch. “You were snooping, weren’t you?”

“I was… perusing.”

“Anything catch your pretty little eye?” He says, offering me a hand as I lift myself up onto a stool. He nearly skips into the living room to retrieve the book.

“Easy and quick and still somehow impressive,” I say. “And do not say ‘that’s what she said’.”

Bozer starts to giggle, but he finds a good enough recipe. “Here we go. One pot chicken and broccoli rice.”

“Rice is my Kryptonite.”

“I know this and I love you.”

He starts in trying to teach me how to cook, but it comes off as him doing most of the work and me dicking around from my bar stool. At one point, he wields his spoon like he’s going to hit me with it. But when the laughter starts to hurt, Bozer stops.

“You okay?”

I force myself to take a few deep breaths, even though my ribs throb, and soon the pain subsides.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sometimes… sometimes it’s fine, sometimes it’s not.”

Even as I readjust in my chair and Bozer stops looking at me in pity, I can’t stop myself.

“B, I should tell you something.”

“This sounds serious,” he says. “What’s up? You good?”

“I’m good, I just… I’ve gotta say something about it. You… you remember, in Turkey, when… when you gave me the bulletproof vest?” I look anywhere but his face. “I… which one did you pick and why?”

“The strongest one,” he says immediately. “I figured you’d need as much protection as you…” He drifts off. He finally makes the connection.

“I definitely wouldn’t have survived without you. I just… I needed you to realize that. I’m sorry I didn’t want you to follow as backup. But… you still somehow saved my ass. So thank you.”

He sets down his utensil and steps around the counter to me, to give me a hug. I feel another weight lifting from my chest, and I have to fight the tears again as he holds on to me just a bit longer than normal.

“So does that mean no more Wookie life debt?”

I throw my dish towel at his head. He dodges it, giggling.

“Yeah, we’re clear. For now at least.”

* * *

After we eat and do dishes, I find myself inching towards their porch. Their view is so much better than mine ever was, and it doesn’t take Mac long to grab a beer and offer his arm to me to get up the steps.

“Such a gentleman.”

“I do what I can,” he says, helping me into the chair. I shift over in the Adirondack, and Mac slips into the space I’ve given him. With his arm over my shoulders, I lean onto him. We can’t really see the stars from here, because the light is too bright, but the twinkling LA skyline is enough.

I still never thought I would end up here.

“Have you looked through any of the old letters?” He asks, drinking his beer.

“A little. I tried to put them in order.”

“All of them?” He seems surprised.

“I got the ones you kept, and the ones I kept, and the ones I never sent, and the ones you never sent, and all the ones that bitch kept from us. So yeah. All of them.”

“How many are there? Have you counted?”

“There’s gotta be around four hundred.”

“That’s a hell of a lot of letters.”

We slip into silence. I can tell he’s thinking about something.

“I’m going to take some time off soon,” he says. “I’ve got a lead on my dad.”

“Yeah?” I ask, turning to him. “When? Where? You need backup—oh, fuck.”

He chuckles. “Probably in a week or two. France.” He brushes some of the hair out of my eyes. “I would love backup, but unfortunately, you can barely stand up for ten minutes without getting lightheaded, so Boze is gonna stick with you.”

I settle back into him. “That’s fine. Bozer and I will have a party and you won’t be invited.”

“He’s just gonna make you watch his movies and force feed you.”

“Oh, darn, that sounds like a horrible time,” I scoff. “Maybe I’ll take him and Riles out to the gun range.”

He chuckles. “You wanna give Boze a gun?”

“Well, yeah. If he’s goin’ out in the field, I would feel safer. Look, I know you’ve got that massive brain of yours, but it’ll be better if you’re not always watching his back.” I lean back into him. He doesn’t give me any back talk about it, so it seems like a good enough idea. “The least you could do is bring me some wine. Red. Sweet, like juice.”

He starts to laugh, and it makes me laugh. Gently, he takes my hand, still in a cast, and looks at my fingernails.

“What the hell did Jill do to you.”

This time, I nearly snort. “How did you know it was Jill?”

“She did this to you before. When you were in the hospital.”

“I know. I kind of like it. She’s nice, and sweet, and positively normal.”

He lets my hand go. “She’s good for you.” It just makes me smile. I’m exhausted from before, so I’m already drifting off to sleep on the porch with him. It’s a wonderful, safe feeling. His fingers trace a lazy pattern on my upper arm, almost like a lullaby.

“When did you know?” I ask quietly.

“When did I know?” He repeats. He sighs, heavily, and I look up to him as he thinks. “When did I know you’d be one of my closest friends, or when did I know I was in love with you?”

“Both.”

“First one? Chaos theory.”

“Wait, why?”

He smiles, bites back part of his lip, then starts. “I mean this next part in the nicest way possible.”

“Which means it’s going to offend me.”

“Just…just listen. You just… you didn’t seem like the kind of person who would one, understand chaos theory or two, care about chaos theory. But you just… asked. You just came out and said it, and that’s when I knew I didn’t want to lose you or forget about you.”

“Oh,” I say. It comes out flat. “That’s super sweet.”

“How about you?”

“The second letter you sent back. The first you sent from basic. I didn’t think you would. And when you did, I knew I’d never be able to get rid of you.”

“Hey!”

“It’s out of love and affection,” I say. He kisses my forehead, and he both look out across the horizon, enjoying the dark, the light, and everything in between.

“On the second one, there were two times,” he says in a soft voice. “The first time I even thought about loving you was when the letters stopped. But I was positive when you called Jack about Siberia. I’ve never been more scared in my life. Knowing you were out there, needing help, knowing you could have easily died. That’s when I was sure I loved you.”

My heart drops a little. “Mine… mine was the letters, too. I tried to teach myself to hate you, though, but Rio brought it all back.”

“You waited three years.”

“I did. I don’t regret it.”

He pulls me closer, and I nestle into him.

“Me neither.”

I don’t know how long we lay there, in silence, because eventually the sounds of his heartbeat and the ambiance of Los Angeles lulls me to sleep.

* * *

_Harper,_

_Glad to hear from you. You were right about the markers. Definitely helpful. …_

_I may have listened to you a little, but I did get myself in trouble. I did make a friend, but I… got into an argument with our sergeant. It’s mathematically impossible to give 110 percent. You can’t tell me that’s not true. …_

_I told some of the guys here that I have a friend who was in Delta. They don’t believe me. Want me to make a list of their names so you can kick their asses?…_

_Be safe._

_MacGyver. April 5, 2009_


	2. Early October

_AJ,_

_… you sound like my best friend Bozer. You two would get along. You using the term ‘the Incident’ reminded me of one of our own Incidents in junior high. Confession: we kind of… melted the football field._

_… I still can’t believe you joined the Army at 17. I mean, what did you want to do with your life? Is this what you always expected to do? I guess I still don’t know. …_

_Still, it is kind of funny that you outrank me. Ma’am. Rank or not, be careful._

_Mac, January 29, 2010_

* * *

When Bozer, Riley, and I step into the storefront of John’s shooting range, even they’re a little bit in awe. Riley, by the weaponry, and Bozer, by the dog. Persephone nearly knocks him over trying to lick his face.

“Shitty guard dog,” John mutters under his breath as he finally acknowledges me. He glances, and then double takes, glaring at me.

“Dammit, Harper, what did you get yourself into this time?”

I lean onto my crutches, but I’m still hurting. I thought this would lessen after a while, but it seems like I’m going to be like this for at least a couple more months. I’ve had good days and bad days. At least this was a relatively good day, and I’ve gotten my cast off.

"Ah, well, John. You know what I’m gonna say.”

“Classified?”

Riley smirks, looking inside the gun case. She’s cautious, but interested. The right way to be around handguns.

“You bring your friends this time?” He asks, glancing to each of them, like he’s shocked I have friends. This is the first time I’ve brought anyone here.

“Ah, yeah. Friends and co-workers. Riley Davis, Wilt Bozer,” I say. B is on the floor with the damn dog. He’s making me look bad.

“What are you lookin’ for today?” John asks, seeing Riley’s focus on a few of the guns.

Although my chest has been hurting all morning, I refuse to say anything about it. The moment I bring it up is the moment I accept it as truth. Besides, I didn‘t sleep at all last night now that Mac is gone. “I wanna make sure these two pick out the right sidearms.”

“I thought we were just shooting today,” Bozer says, slipping a hand around my waist and taking my one crutch. He lets me lean my weight into him, and I feel like I can breathe a little again.

“No, you’re gonna test ‘em out, find one you like, and you’re gonna take one home. If I can’t be out there in the field with you, you’re at least gonna be protected.”

Riley looks to me and glances as the price tags, but John tsks.

“You don’t worry about prices here,” John says. “Harper bailed me out after the recession.”

“John,” I start chiding, but he cuts me off.

“I’m sure she never told you, because she’s not willing to share any information that shows she’s got a heart, but she’s got a tab here that I’m still trying to pay back. So anything you get here, it’s paid for. I’m sure if they work for you, they’ve already got background checks in the system?”

I wink at John. It’s easier than fighting him. “Some of that information is top secret.”

“Figured,” he harrumphs. “Anyway. What are you lookin’ for?”

I start pointing in the case. “You’ve got the Heckler & Koch P30. Jack likes that one. That’s his primary weapon. Glock 17 is another good one, that’s mostly a law enforcement gun. Safe, high capacity. Glock 26 is another good option. It’s a bit smaller. You all know I like my Colts. I like the Defender, but my 1911 is my favorite. The Beretta, M9A1… that one’s pretty good. What do you guys think?”

“Can I try the P30?” Riley asks. I try not to show my hand, smirking like that, but of course she would pick the one Jack uses. It’s not surprising at all. He probably already helped train her on that one. Bozer, though, he looks a bit concerned.

“You don’t think you’re ready,” I say when Riley steps away to look over the gun with John.

“Not really,” he whispers. “I mean, not that I don’t want to be ready, you know? But it would be nice to carry on an op, even if Mac isn’t.”

“Especially since Mac doesn’t,” I say. “He might disagree with me, but I would rather you have one, just in case. Try the Colt Defender. It’s not as much firepower, but I swear by them.”

He looks into the case one more time, this time, his mood shifting.

“I never thought it would come to this, you know?”

“We never do, B.”

“It’s scary and exciting all at once.”

I smirk. “That’s why we do it.”

John returns, giving Bozer the appropriate talk, while I join Riley with our equipment and I hobble towards the indoor range.

“I know you know what you’re doing,” I start. “But just be calm. This doesn’t have to be your first reaction on a mission. But it’s there if you need it.”

She nods, but she still looks worried. “You know what happened.”

“I know. It happens to the best of us.” I sigh. “If I had just taken the headshot on Murdoc, I wouldn’t be in my current situation.”

“If you had taken the headshot, you might be far away in another country on another assignment by now,” she counters. “Not with us. Not with Mac.”

“Alright, alright, don’t be so smug,” I say. “Just because Mac can go off to France by himself and Jack can… well, follow him without me, doesn’t mean you can rub it in.”

She glares at me. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I know, and I’ve chosen to ignore it.”

Bozer finally makes it in. I set him up in a booth, but I’m already wavering. I’m exhausted. The dreams are keeping me awake.

“You’ve done too much today,” Bozer complains. He finds me a stool, drags it over, and forces me to sit down in it. He even takes away my crutches so I can’t leave without his help.

“You’re the worst. This is a prison.”

“Tell me what to do.”

“Now that’s something I can handle. First rule,” I begin, and Riley’s paying attention. Good. I only have to do this once. She knows what she’s doing, but it’s good for her to hear. “Treat every gun like it’s loaded. I don’t care if it’s unloaded. Treat it like it is. Never point it at anything or anyone negligently, unless you plan on wiping them out. Always keep your trigger finger off and outside the guard until you know you’re gonna shoot. Be aware of your surroundings. Don’t get into someone else’s line of fire. That’s particularly helpful in a field op. Got it?”

Both nod once. I feel like I’m teaching a masterclass.

“Grip it high on the back strap. The… the back of the grip. It’ll help you control the recoil. You want to hold it with two hands. Only people like me or Jack can hold it one handed, got it? You earn that right. Your support hand presses against the grip you’re not already covering under the trigger guard. Your hand should fit together like a puzzle.”

I push my stool back far enough so I can see both of them in their cubbies. Both have slipped on their ear protection, so I call out.

“Don’t tense up when you stand. That’s the worst, you’ll tense up and then not be on your feet, moving—”

“Learn from experience?” B says.

“Yeah, don’t do what I do,” I say. “Aim with your dominant eye. You both know how to do that?”

I get words of affirmation from the two of them.

“Okay, don’t necessarily pull the trigger. You more… you press it. Don’t be afraid of it.”

Riley immediately starts shooting. She knows what she’s doing. Bozer scares himself at first, but soon figures it out. I watch him cluster until he’s done, and the gun clicks.

“Always know how many shots you have left,” I chide. “Trust me. You should always make sure you have an accurate count.”

“Right, right,” Bozer says. He’s absorbing. I can see the wheels turning as he reloads.

“You’re clustering too high.” I point at the target, struggling to my feet. “Lock up your wrist, and it’ll help.” I grasp his shoulders, half for balance, half for instruction, and straighten him out. “Loosen up back here, and tighten up on your hands.”

“This would be hot if you weren’t my best friend’s girlfriend,” he mutters.

“Oh, shut up. Now, don’t anticipate the shot. If you flinch, you don’t aim right. Try it now.”

He does, and it’s significantly better. I check on Riley, and she’s doing just fine.

“How do you like the gun?”

“This is it,” she says. “It’s big, but I’ve used it before and I’ve liked it. And if I need help, Jack can always help me.”

I smirk. “Good. Glad you like that one. I would have picked that one for you, too.”

“And Bozer, picking your gun? I’m not surprised at all,” she comments.

“He idolizes me,” I whisper, and she rolls her eyes. “Hey, B!” I call over my shoulder.

“My gray goddess?”

“You like that one?”

He aims it once more, his stance much better than when we arrived. “If it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for me.”

I turn back to Riley, and she wordlessly raises her eyebrow at me. “What did I tell you?”

“It’s good for him, having a female role model he can’t hit on,” I whisper. “Sometimes I think he’s a little scared of me.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

I start towards the door of the range. “You wanna get some extra clips and ammo before we go? I’m starving.”

“You know,” Riley says, “You know you don’t have to do this.”

“Hey, if it means you’re safe, I’m happy. Let me do this for you guys. You’ve done enough for me. Let me at least get your back this time.”

* * *

_Mac—_

_… I never knew what I was going to do with my life. I never had a plan. I’m going to be honest with you, I never thought I would get out of the Town. There were only a few things I was sure of: I’d either be putting people in jail or getting in jail. I thought maybe a cop, but my record wasn’t very good at the time. College was a non-starter. Not like you, MIT. Couldn’t really play with the MLB. I couldn’t do a lot of things right, except fight. Honestly, I couldn’t really do friends right, either. Confession: you and my old partner from Delta—Walk—are the only people I really consider friends anymore._

_I guess the Army was my way out. It was my escape. I don’t regret it, either._

_Sorry. That got deep. It’s been a while since I’ve done that…_

_That’s Sergeant Harper, to you, Specialist. Unless you can come up with a better nickname. Besides, I’ve got, what, six years on you? God, I keep forgetting you’re like, twelve._

_Hey. I know you’re going to tell me that it’s all commercialism and isn’t based on fact or anything historical, and if there’s a historical basis, it’s all garbage anyway, but still:_

_ Happy Valentine’s Day._

_AJ [your superior officer], February 12, 2010_


	3. Early October

_AJ,_

… _Do you ever get used to it? The death and the gunfire and the sheer weight of it all? Sorry, this got deeper than I expected, but you’re starting to at least get used to _that_ aspect of these letters. But I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. Don’t get me wrong, I finally feel like what I’m doing means something. But what about the people we call our enemies? Do they feel like what they’re doing means something?…_

_Sorry. That got a little bit more depressing than it should have gotten. Hope you’re doing okay. Thanks for the package. Even though I’m the youngest one here, I’m starting to become the popular one, although they all seem to think you’re two people: my Delta buddy and my girlfriend. Honestly, most of them wouldn’t get it even if I corrected them. It doesn’t bother me._

_ Mac, March 15, 2010_

* * *

It’s been at least two months since I’ve been to my apartment. By the time I felt good enough to leave, or had a ride to get over there, I realize how much my mail has been piling up. As Bozer and Riley gather up some items I instructed them to get before heading back to the Hills, I grumble. Bills, notices… why didn’t I think of this? I should have come back sooner, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave.

Or maybe I wouldn’t. I’m not positive at this point.

I shove all the mail into a tote bag and toss it over my shoulder. “You guys done?”

Riley takes the bag I had tried to carry myself. “You good?”

“I’m fine. Just… a lot to take in, you know? I’ve been gone for too long, but I can’t really live here by myself.”

“You’re havin’ too much fun at our place,” Bozer says from upstairs, but Riley looks at me silently. She knows he’s joking around, but he’s not wrong. I don’t really want to leave.

“Get your ass down here, B.”

“I found something up here. It’s interesting.”

“Stop snooping.”

“I didn’t know you were Catholic.”

I glare at him. “The hell did you find?”

He tosses something small and metallic down to my waiting hand. It’s my dog tags. Harper, Athena J. My social security number. A neg. C. I feel a wave of nausea course over me, like my body knew something bad was coming. I know it’s only the tags. I toss them over to my kitchen counter, and they wind around the faucet.

“Why are they black?” He asks innocently.

“Bozer,” Riley says under her breath, chiding him for asking.

“Special Forces wear black ones for better camouflage,” I explain. Bozer just nods, realizing what he really asked me. Instead of coming back down, though, he's found something else. I see Bozer peering inside a wooden box. I don't even know where he found it.

"Jesus, Gray. How many of these do you have?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," I lie, but he runs down the stairs, box in hand.

I step back from the stairs. I really don't care to see them, but it is what it is at this point. Although Riley was ready to chide him for snooping, she also looks over the box, her face immediately changing.

"Commendation Medal," Riley says, looking through. "Defense Distinguished Service Medal, Achievement Medals... A Silver Star? A Purple Heart, and a Distinguished Service Cross? AJ, why.... why haven't you told us about these?"

I shrug.

Bozer lifts on more out of the box. "Why are these just loose, thrown in a closet?" He chides.

Riley looks at the medal and back to me. "That's... AJ, that's a Medal of Honor."

"Yes, it is."

"Does... does Mac know about all this?" Bozer asks.

"No, and he doesn't have to know."

"You're invited to all inaugurations and inaugural balls with this medal," Bozer continues, and he's just making my head hurt.

"Can we stop talking about this?" The pounding headache starts to set in, but I’m saved by the phone—I check it, and it’s from Mac.

_Back in the country, headed back home. You there?_

Home. I quickly text him back. _Running some errands with B and Ri. We’ll be back shortly. Oh, the fridge was acting up. Bozer may have fixed it? You may need to check it._

I just get the blue heart emoji. It starts to make my nausea slip away.

“Mac’s back. You guys wanna head back to the house?”

“Might as well,” Ri says. “I’m sure you’re gonna want to be back—”

I readjust my crutches and flip her off, much to her chagrin.

I’m out the door as quickly as I can go. By the time we make it back in the car and get on the road, headed for the Hills (literally) my phone rings— this time, it’s Jack.

“Walk! What’s up?” I immediately put it on speakerphone. “I’m with Ri and Boze. Don’t say anything stupi—”

_“Thea, stop,”_ he says. He sounds panicked. _“Have any of you heard from Mac?”_

“He texted me about twenty minutes ago,” I explain. “Why?”

“_I’m at the house. I… I’m gonna call Matty. I think something happened to him. He’s not here.”_

“What?! What would have happened to him?” I start, my heart racing, but it’s too late. He’s hung up. Riley hits the gas.

* * *

When we make it to the house, Jack’s there, and what I think is Cage’s car. Whatever happened, Matty hasn’t made it in yet. When I finally make my way inside, behind Riley and Bozer, they’re collecting in the living room.

“What the hell happened?” I ask, easing down onto one of the dining room chairs. The sweeping nausea is back. “Jack?”

“He and I had a fight,” he begins. “He left me a bunch of voicemails, so I came over, and he wasn’t here. So I looked for him, and found that on the porch.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder. I strain to see it, but eventually, I do: a George Washington mask, a wine bottle, with Mac’s knife in the cork. I physically feel the blood drain from my face.

“You think it’s Murdoc,” I say, breaking the silence of the room.

“I think Murdoc took him,” he says quietly.

Matty comes in, and all hell starts to break loose. Phoenix techs start combing the place. I sink further into my chair, listening to the rest of them muse about what happened, try to find a way to get him back, but I’m helpless. I can’t even move on my own. And when Jack, Sam, and Bozer tear off to tail what they expect is Murdoc’s car, they don’t say a word to me.

Not that I expect it. I can’t do anything to help them, anyway. I can’t do anything. I’m helpless here. It’s like everyone around me is moving in double speed and I’m in slow motion.

“You okay?”

I jump, finally getting addressed by Riley. She leans onto the couch, waiting patiently for some sort of response.

“Find him,” I say. My voice wavers. I don’t like that it’s wavering, but I can’t do much to stop it. “You know what happened last time. Don’t… don’t let this happen again, Riles.”

She nods once. She knows what’s at stake.

* * *

By the time night falls, I’ve cleaned the floor, and after getting the clear from Matty, I’ve cleaned up the carnage from their massive search.

I haven’t heard anything. I haven’t heard from anyone. I don’t even know if they’ve found him yet. I don’t even know if he’s alive.

I lean onto the wall beside the fridge. It’s still pulled out, and while I got rid of the puddle of water, it’s still not fixed. I look over the back: Mac had gotten out duct tape for something, but I’m not sure what it is.

I try to look on Google, but all I can see is the welling tears in my eyes. I sink to the floor. I can’t. I can’t do anything except wait. I slip my hand around the charms on my necklace. It’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to prayer. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I don’t know what I would do if…

_Hail Mary, full of grace…_ Can I remember any more?

I’ve kept it together until now. I can’t anymore. The tears start quietly, until it’s all I can do to not sob. I haven’t cried like this in… since after Rio. I cry until I realize I can’t stop. I can’t stop, and I almost don’t want to, even as my chest and ribs start to hurt. It’s not until someone grasps my hand and pulls it away from my face—

I’m almost dizzy from hyperventilating as Mac kneels down in front of me. He’s back. He’s safe. He’s here.

“Babe, it’s fine. Hey… I’m home.”

I can barely breathe as I sob, as I try to get myself to stop. I shouldn’t be crying like this. I’m better than this.

“I… I tried to fix the fridge, but I couldn’t. I just…” I cough and it hurts my chest. He uses his thumb to wipe the tears from my cheeks. He’s got a bandage around his arm. He looks a bit dirty.

“AJ, you need to breathe.”

“I tried to fix it. I tried. I cleaned and I tried to fix it but I couldn’t…”

I’m stuck in my own feedback loop, and even though I know it, I can’t seem to pull myself out. Mac sits down next to me, takes the duct tape from my hand, and pulls me into an embrace until I start to breathe more regularly.

“What the fuck happened?” I say, with a bit more violence than I expected. “What… was it Murdoc?”

He sighs heavily. I can see it in his face: he doesn’t want to talk about it. That I’m right. Murdoc has been biding his time to come after us again, this time, at Mac’s own house.

“Maybe you should go back to your apartment,” he says with finality, brushing my hair back from my face. “Just to be safe. He doesn’t know you’ve been staying here.”

I swallow hard, trying to push down the fear, the terror, the panic. “Does he know I’m still alive?”

“I… I tried to lie, say you had died, but he saw through me,” he confesses.

“So he knows I survived,” I say. I’m not crying anymore. “Good.”

“Good? Good?!” He turns back towards me, seemingly unable to formulate a sentence. “That’s not good! That’s not good at all—”

“Don’t you get it? He’s gonna be running for the hills now. You lived, I lived… we’re going to be fine. We can go after him. We can find him and we can kill him.”

“Put him back in jail,” he corrects softly. “We’re going to put him back in prison.”

“You might, but if I get the chance, I’m taking the head shot next time.”

He doesn’t fight me. He knows better than that. Instead, I take his hand, look at the bandage on his arm.

“What did he do to you?” I ask quietly.

“Uh, he… he tased me, and then drugged me. I got out, but then we had to track him down, and there was a lot of gunfire and then the missile—”

“Excuse me?”

“I was in a small car accident. Look, I’m fine, it’s just bumps and bruises,” he insists. “I’m fine. Really.”

“I hate this,” I whisper, pushing some of his hair back from his face. “I really hate not being there with you.”

“Not this time. I’m glad you weren’t there. But I’m glad you were here when I came home.”

I kiss him, and it feels like the first time again, every time. Maybe that’s what love is supposed to feel like. I finally embrace him. He knows this time to pull me close.

* * *

_Mac—_   
_… I really do think they believe in what they’re doing. Most of them, anyway. It’s a weird thing to wrap your head around. They’re the heroes in their own narratives, so I guess it begs the question: are we the heroes? Or are we really just the villains in their stories? It’s not black and white. It’s usually a dark mottled grey. …_

_You know, you can’t get bent out of shape trying to figure out the motives of the people you’re fighting against. Mac, you’re too good of a person to understand. Stick with your physics, instead of motives of terrorists. …_

_Also, you need to lighten up. It’s almost your birthday. Hope you enjoy the extra large care package I sent. Maybe it got a little obnoxious. I don’t care. You need a little love on your birthday._

_Did you realize something? It’s been a year since we met. Promise me you’ll stay safe._   
_ AJ, March 22, 2010_


	4. Mid-November

_MacGyver—_   
_ … I know this is probably not something I should put in writing, but I’m gonna do this anyway: you have got to teach me how to make my own improvised hand grenades. I’ve got a black eye and a healing wrist that could have used your expertise. I’ve heard about DXS my PMC pairing up people like me with people like you, but I’m telling you. I’m starting to think I might need it. It’s getting lonely out here. Wanna come work with me?…_

_I’m going on an extended assignment soon, so don’t freak out if you don’t hear from me._

_Don’t do anything stupid._   
_Harper, September 17, 2009_

* * *

My phone starts ringing, but I have to take the cupcakes out of the stove. I see it’s B, so I put it on speakerphone.

“Are you dying?”

_“No, but—”_

“One second!” I hobble over to the stove and pull out the cupcakes. They don’t look too burnt. I can live with this. I set them down on the counter and blow the hair from my face. “Okay. Sorry. What’s up? You okay?”

“_I need help getting through a padlock.”_

“Alright, do you have access to a paper clip or bobby pin? Do you have enough time to pick it?”

He goes quiet for a second. “_You’re not gonna ask why?”_

“Should I be asking why?”

“_Mac wouldn’t help me.”_

“Oh, he’s chaotic good at best. I’m at least a neutral good. If you gotta move quick, go with my old standby: bolt cutters. Straight for the problem.”

“_That’s the kind of answer I was lookin’ for. Thanks, Gray.”_

“You doin’ okay at training?”

“_I will be,” _he says.

“Hey! How do I do icing on cupcakes like you do?”

_“Oh, uh, take a plastic bag, cut off the corner, then put the frosting inside. You can use it like a pastry bag. Gotta go.”_

“Thanks, B! Be careful!”

“_Love you, Gray!”_

* * *

_Harper,_

_… I’m not going to help you build hand grenades through written instructions!! You ever think about staying out of trouble? …_

_You only like me for my brains._

_YOU don’t do anything stupid!_

_ Mac, September 23, 2009_


	5. Early December

_Harps,_

_… I really don’t want to talk about it. I’m sure we both have family issues we don’t want to discuss. I mean, my grandpa basically raised me. Mom died when I was five, dad left when I was ten. The only people I have left are Bozer and… and, well, you. …_

_Confession: I’m thankful for you, you know. Just… just wanted to say it. Hell, you get more of my thoughts than Boze does anymore. You know me better than anyone. I always thought I could do this myself, you know? Thanks… thanks for listening._

_Mac, May 24, 2010_

* * *

I don’t remember the nightmare. I just know I wake up, nearly screaming, unaware of where I am. Is it my house? It’s my house—I’m at home. I’ve been at home. I’m going to be here, in LA, for a long time, I remind myself.

I’m not in Siberia. I’m not in Turkey. God, everywhere seems to be a nightmare.

But I try to push the taste of iron from my mouth as I struggle out of my bed, this time, alone.

I started splitting my time between my apartment and Mac’s house. As long as Mac’s in the country, though, I end up in the Hills, curled up alongside him. It’s lonely without him, but I’m dealing. It’s admittedly easier than last time.

I can’t believe it’s already December. It’s getting less hot, but nothing like Boston used to get; we don’t even get snow here. That makes me a little depressed, but I’m over it. Mac’s here in LA. That’s all that matters. I struggle down the stairs until my door opens—

“Jesus Christ!”

Mac pokes his head in, and I grasp onto the railing tightly. I nearly slip down a step but catch myself fast enough.

“Oh, God, sorry, AJ—you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Warn a girl next time.”

He steps up to me, and wraps his arm around me. Before I can take another step down, he slips his arm under my legs and carries me down the stairs.

“Mac. Mac, if I don’t do this myself, I’m never going to get better. Mac.”

He lets me down easy on my feet at the bottom of the stairs and shuts me up with a kiss.

“What’ve you been up to?” I ask. He opens up his Mission City Star bag and shows me what looks to be old film.

“Where did you find that?”

He slips up onto one of my bar stools, still looking at the tape. “Northern California. My dad’s last known location. A burnt down cabin. He had to have left it for me.”

“It looks pretty beat up,” I yawn, trying to force the nightmare from the back of my eyelids.

“Yeah. I don’t know what to do with it.”

His phone starts to ring, and when he looks at the screen, he sees it’s Matty. As he answers it, I look over the film.

“I’ll be there soon. Yes, I am with AJ. She’s fine. You’re fine, right?”

I try to hold it up to the light. I can’t see much. “Tell her I’m going to start robbing banks because I’m so bored.”

He pushes me away, but I lean towards his phone. “No, she’s not resorting to crime,” he tries.

“Yes, I’m going to become a criminal,” I say, but he keeps trying to lean away from me, pushing me backwards and hiding his laughter. “I’m planning a heist. I’m gonna hit the Getty. There’s a Manet I love there. _The Rue Mosnier with Flags. _I’m gonna take it. Hey, Matty! Did you hear me? I’m gonna take it!”

“I’m on my way. I’m leaving now. I’m not lying to you.” He ends the call, glaring at me, although he’s trying to hide his smirk. “Really? Manet?”

“I like him. Both somehow Realism and Impressionism. French. You know.”

“You continue to surprise me,” he says. It’s so soft, it almost hurts my heart.

“You should ask Jill to look over the tape,” I say as he puts it into his bag. “She might have an idea of what to do to make it playable again.”

“Good idea,” he says. “I just…”

“You want to find your dad. I get it. I’m here for you.”

He just smiles at me. “Don’t try robbing any banks or museums while I’m gone, okay?”

“I cannot make any promises,” I say. He kisses me, first lightly, then again, this time, with a bit more force. “Love you.”

“I love you,” he says. “Thanks for listening.”

* * *

I move as fast as I can with my crutches. It’s not fast. It’s not fast enough. The only thing I could hear over the phone with Riley was VX gas, Mac, exposure. I know about the nerve agent. I’ve seen the effects of it before. I know what it can do.

I nearly slip, trying to move too fast down the hallway, but I catch myself. I have to catch myself—

I see Sam. She walks down the hallway, about to answer a phone call, I think. She looks up, she sees me, and she gestures towards a cordoned off area of the infirmary before answering her call. I thank God for Samantha Cage, as I try to move faster, but it just exhausts me. By the time I make it there, I’m out of breath.

He looks… he looks fine. He peers at the videotape he showed me days ago. He looks normal. He looks exhausted, but he’s here. He’s fine.

He looks up to me, smiling widely. “How the tables have turned, right?”

“What the fuck, Mac?” I say, collapsing into the seat next to his bed. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

I set my crutches against his hospital bed and run my hands over my face. “Dammit, Mac, that’s not the point.”

“Hey, I’m fine. The mission was a success—”

“Mac, we’ve talked about this,” I begin. “It goes both ways, you know. I know I can’t always keep you safe, but you’ve gotta… you can’t be so Goddamned reckless, Mac.”

He emphatically shakes his head. “I wasn’t. I wasn’t being reckless. Sam and Jack were there. I knew all I had to do was get rid of the gas, and they would take care of me. Remember? We’re a team.”

I groan. I know he’s right. I still hate it.

“Harps, please.” He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it.

“I don’t have to like it,” I grumble. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“I know you don’t. But I don’t like seeing you like that, either.” He pulls me closer to him, and he inches over on his small hospital bed. I slip next to him and he finally looks pleased. He kisses me, first lightly, then again, this time, with a bit more force. Like the last time I saw him.

“You’re too good, Mac,” I whisper, pushing some of his hair back out of his eyes. “You’re just too damn good. You can’t do this to yourself anymore. You’re the only one I have left.”

“I’m gonna have to heal,” he mutters. “Wanna go to the Getty while I’m off?”

I kiss him again. “Absolutely.”

“I’m not gonna show you how to take the Manet,” he grumbles, starting to drift off to sleep.

“I don’t need you to show me. I’ve pulled off heists before.”

“We all know heists aren’t your strong suit.”

“I’ll just frame you, then,” I whisper. He grumbles, but doesn’t say anything coherent.

I don’t dare leave. They’re going to have to drag me out of here. But even in his sleep—especially in his sleep—I see the boy from Boston. The angry, broken, abandoned teenager I never could let go. I just got too invested too quickly.

Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe we were both just too angry, broken, abandoned, and young, and now we’ve grown to need each other too much. I drift off to sleep in his arms.

* * *

_Mac—_

_… I got you talking about it anyway. Don’t worry. I’ll give you the rundown. Dad: Jason Harper. Half Greek, half Irish, whole asshole. Grandma came from Greece, settled in the South End, married Kelly Harper of the Charlestown Harpers. Dad bounced around, working at marinas. Mom: Sophie Fortineaux. Born in Quebec, moved to Boston when she was young, became a teacher. Both parents: now dead. I’m alone. How’s that for family issues?_

_Sorry, that got combative and that’s not fair. Maybe we are just broken pieces, kids with abandonment issues. Maybe we’re angry. Maybe that’s why we do what we do… going after the people who hurt other people. Who take advantage of other people. We’ve tried so hard for so long because… well, I don’t know. The loneliness hurts less than getting let down. …_

_Where the hell did Harps come from?… I love it. I had an old boss call me that._

_Hey… if you ever end up wanting to talk about it, or anything, you know you can tell me anything, right? You’re not gonna scare me away. I’m too invested now._

_Harps, June 13, 2010_


	6. New Years Eve

_AJ,_

_They never really prepare you for the worst, do they? I mean, they can give us all the training we need, sure, but when it comes down to it, you’re never ready._

_My EOD training officer, my CO… he died last week. On a call I should have taken. I should have been there. I was supposed to be covering for him. He was going home for a month for the birth of his daughter. I think the comms went out and then…_

_He’s never going to know his daughter, and his daughter will never know her father._

_Why does it feel like everyone around me either dies or runs away? Am I really that bad?Why are you still sticking around?_

_I’m sorry. I just need some time to process. All I can think about is her not growing up without her dad._

_Mac, June 29, 2011_

* * *

“Walk, I’m cuttin’ you off,” I say, taking away Jack’s half drank beer. He’s drunk, and I’m pretty sure Riley is too; Bozer has slipped into a cocktail coma and has started singing old R&B. It’s already past 11:30, but none of them need to be puking into the New Year.

The New Year. 2018. I’m hoping this one is a lot better than 2017. We’re already leaving a bunch of drama behind us.

I can’t find Mac, not until I look around the porch. He’s leaning against the opposite corner, alone, staring out into the city, a beer in his hand. He looks pensive, tired. I hobble my way over to him, leaving the group behind.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Just thinking,” he sighs. “You of all people know how this past month has been.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, but I should.”

I lean onto the railing. “Mister Tortured and Silent, talking about his feelings? Well, color me surprised.”

He glares at me, but still manages a half-smile. “It’s just… I keep feeling like we’re getting hit with bad thing after bad thing. First, it was Zoe…”

“I know. She was sweet. I think she was sweet on you, but who isn’t?” I sigh. “You did everything you could. And she was right. You would have done the same thing.”

“That’s not the point—”

“You helped her save that entire ship. A bunch of kids. Sometimes, we lose people. We do. And we mourn them and move on.”

“Then the arrest, and then the bombs, and then Sam…”

“We cleared you. And you disarmed the bombs—“

He’s suddenly more angry than before. I nearly take a step back. “What if you had been here? What if they had tried to break in when you were here? What would he have done to you? Would he have…”

“Stop. Stop thinking about the what if’s,” I say, slipping under his arm and forcing him to look at me. “I wasn’t. And that’s a blessing, because you know I’m not back to full strength yet. But listen. This wasn’t your fault.”

“Sam—“

“Sam is strong. Sam is a beast. Sam will be just fine. Game recognizes game, Mac, and she can handle it.”

He chuckles. “We gotta get you into the field. You’ve been watching too much YouTube.”

“I’m so bored,” I admit. “I need a hobby that doesn’t involve guns or strenuous activities. I’m losing it here.”

He sets his beer down on the ledge, pulling me close. “But I’m glad you’re safe. And relatively happy.”

“I’m making it work,” I say, resting my head on his chest. “This year…”

He chuckles. “You came into this year hating me.”

“Nah,” I say. “I never hated you. I was mad at you, sure. Super mad at you. But I never hated you. I always loved you. You know that.”

“I do now. I didn’t then. You wrote so many letters trying to tell me that.” He kisses me on the forehead.

“So did you. Good thing we finally figured it out.” I turn around, leaning into him and looking out into the LA skyline. “Have you figured out anything about your dad?”

He sighs. “Nothing new. Nothing concrete. I just… he wants to me find him, or someone does. Why else do I keep getting these clues? Someone has to been sending me these clues.”

“You’ll find it. You’re not one to give up. I don’t think you’ve ever given up. Not on me, not on anyone. It’s both one of your greatest assets and worst flaws.”

“If you could say anything to your dad, what would you tell him?” He asks quietly. I swallow, hard, too sober for this conversation. I’m glad I’m not facing him when I start to speak again.

“I would tell him about how I left his funeral, went to a job interview, and decided to get coffee inside the college I could never afford like we always used to,” I say. “And while I sat for the first time without him, I met my best friend. So, if it weren’t for him, bringing me back to Boston, I would have never met you, Mac. So that’s what I would tell him. I would… I would thank him. He didn’t do a lot of good in life, but he did this. He did me one last solid.”

Mac gently spins me around and slips his hands across my jaw, under my hair. He draws me close and kisses me, just light enough to feel like a breath.

“You think he would like me?” He says, not letting go of me. Not yet.

“I think he would think you were so far out of my league. ‘He’s too smart for you, A,’” I say, affecting his accent. “‘He’s gonna get bored a’you in a second. He’s gonna—’”

He cuts me off with another kiss. “I couldn’t get bored of you. And I’m not too smart for you.”

“We’re just different kinds of smart.”

“Exactly,” he says, nearly distracted by the cries from the rest of the group. He starts to pull me back.

“We’re gonna find your dad,” I say. “We’re gonna find him.”

“I know we are,” he says, an emphasis on the ‘we’. When we join the group, they indicate that there’s only about a minute left until the new year.

“Did you know that New Years parties can be traced back to the tradition of Saturnalia?” Mac begins.

B cuts him off, calling out ‘thirty’.

Mac sits down around the firepit, then helps me down around the group. Jack had found himself another beer, while Riley, definitely drunker than when I left her, is now drinking straight from the whiskey bottle. Bozer leans into Mac, but Mac, he still holds onto my hand as he counts along with Bozer. They’re all so damn happy, and I realize something. For the first time in a long, long time, I’m damn happy too.

As soon as the numbers get down to single digits, I feel that familiar flutter in my heart. They weren’t empty promises. This year, we would find his dad. This year would be better. This year would be for healing.

Mac pulls me back into him as soon as the group says ‘three, two, one’ and he’s already kissing me while they cheer. I hear the familiar sound of fireworks go off somewhere behind us, but I don’t see them. I just see Mac.

* * *

_Mac—_

_God, Mac. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’ve talked about him before. He seems like a great guy. I wish I had something better to say to you. It doesn’t really get better. Especially in moments like this. But you can’t dwell on it if it’s something you can’t change. It happened, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to fall into regret and depression about it. We’re all just doing our best._

_The best way to make sure she knows her father is people like you, Mac. You need to teach her. …_

_People like us, we don’t have a lot of love to give. The people we choose are the ones who truly deserve it. Just… be safe. Be careful. Above all, don’t think this is your fault, because it’s not._

_Listen to me. I’m not gonna die on you. I’m not gonna run away. You should know this by now. It’s been over two years now. I don’t stick with things I don’t think are going to work. _

_Trust me on that one._

_ AJ, July 1, 2011_


	7. January

_AJ,_

_… Tell me something: if someone else noticed something on your gear was broken, wouldn’t you want it fixed? I was trying to do a guy a favor, and I just get berated for it. I don’t need to be a sniper to understand basic engineering. He tried to lay me out. Don’t worry, I used that leverage trick you told me about. You’re right—with the right momentum and force, I took him down. Used the bunks to flip over his shoulder. Pretty good for a first time, right?_

_Turned out this knuckledragger’s my new overwatch. Why can’t I get someone like you? You trust me, right? Don’t answer that. I don’t know if I want to know the answer. …_

_Why the hell does your location have to be so damn top secret? I was just in Ghazni! I was literally 80 klicks from you. Disarmed a bomb with a stick of gum. Wish I could have seen you. …_

_ Thanks for the care package. Whenever you get your next chance, more of that Gatorade powder. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you. I was running low on duct tape, and you know they’re not going to give me any, not after last time. You could save my life, sending me that stuff. And I was running out of paper. Guess I was writing too much to you. …_

_ Still pissed I didn’t see you last week. Really pissed. But I can’t really dwell on it now. You should see if you can do more assignments in Afghanistan. Can’t you pull rank or something?_

_I miss you._

_Mac, October 19, 2011_

* * *

“I don’t think it’s supposed to make that sound.”

“Of course it’s not, that’s what I’m trying to stop,” Mac grumbles, pulling my stove out from the nook.

“Mac, stop. I’ll just call the super. He can come over and fix it. It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay, listen, you came back here, and the stove wasn’t working. He had plenty of time.”

I limp, using my cane. I’m still unsure of the amount of weight I can put on my leg, but I need to stop Mac before he got too far—

“Don’t touch it, you’re gonna—“

He already starts pulling it apart, and I groan. While I appreciate the domesticity of the scene— him, lying on my floor, wrenching on the back of my stove, I’m already pissed.

“What?” He asks as I continue to groan.

“You’re gonna void the damn warranty,” I say. He squints at me as he pulls on something that probably shouldn’t be pulled out. “If you’re gonna cost me my security deposit, at least look a little remorseful. Jesus.”

“Wait, what?” He leans up on his elbows. “You’re mad about the security deposit?”

“Yes, Mac! I would like my several grand security deposit back, but because you decided to rip apart my stove, I won’t get it back. Thanks.”

“Wait, you’re… you’re actually mad,” he says flatly.

“Light dawns over Marblehead!” I scoff. “Yes, I am actually mad! Do you not get it?”

“Wait, what… never mind. I don’t get why you wouldn’t want me to fix your stove,” he says, still fiddling. He doesn’t get it. The more he does his… his thing, the worse it gets. His phone starts ringing on the counter.

“May I?” I say, still huffing, but he nods and I check.

“It’s Matty.”

“Can you answer it? Please?”

His grin, although patronizing, makes me grumble and answer it on speakerphone.

“Hey, Matty. It’s AJ, but Mac’s here.”

“_Get your ass in here, I’ve got something for you.”_

“Be right there, Matty, if AJ doesn’t hurt me first.”

I glare at him. _“I don’t want to know, nor do I care. Just get here.”_

She ends the call, and I just shake my head. I can’t believe he doesn’t get it.

“Babe, c’mon,” he says, following me into the living room with ease. It’s much harder to be angry when you can’t move very fast. He circles me, cutting me off and forcing me to talk to him. “What’s the deal? Why are you so concerned about the security deposit? Are you planning on moving?”

“And so what if I am? I just…” I find myself unable to say it to his face, but his phone buzzes again, and he glances at it.

“Matty again. Telling us to stop fighting,” he grumbles, he kisses me. I take it, wanting to be mad but also needing to say goodbye. He starts to step towards the door, and I hate leaving things like this, especially if he’s going on an op—

“I was looking at a house,” I explain quickly as he almost opens my door. “I… I don’t know what to do, Mac. I got so used to it, and now I hate waking up without you, okay? I… I found a house in Studio City. So I may not re-up my lease.”

He peers at me, his hand still on the now open door, and he nods. “Let’s talk about this when I get back, okay?”

“Fine. Be… be safe.”

He leaves, and I’m left with a half-fixed stove and a half-fixed heart.

* * *

The next evening, I find myself drifting off to sleep as I try to read the latest book Jill gave me, until there’s a slight knock on the door. I know it’s got to be Mac, because he’s the only one who knows the front door code. He also should know better: when he’s gone, and I’m here, I usually leave it unlocked.

“Mac?”

I hear the door shut slightly, and upon glancing up from the pages, I see him leaning against the wall. He looks exhausted, but alive.

“Hey. Did you have a decent mission?”

He sighs. I finally see his hands.

“What the fuck did you do? Are you okay?” I immediately get up, and when I finally make my way to him, he’s already chuckling.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I just… I burnt my hands a little.”

“A little?” I squeak. “These bandages look a little overkill for a little.”

“I probably should change them,” he says absentmindedly.

“They look like boxing gloves, Mac. What the hell happened?” I slip into my bathroom and find my hospital grade bandages; he’s already waiting on the couch when I come back.

“We were in New Orleans,” he begins, as I start unwinding the bandages. “Well, long story short, Jack was in a coffin in an incinerator, and I… I panicked, okay? And before you ask, he’s fine.”

“I don’t even want to know why he was being burnt alive, do I?”

“You ever hear about Duke Jacoby—ow!”

I finally make it to his skin. He’s got at least second degree burns. “Mac,” I say under my breath.

“Jack was in trouble, and I couldn’t think of anything else,” he says, shrugging. “What was I supposed to do?”

I finish unwrapping his other hand. He holds them in front of him, unable to do anything. I carefully get some lidocaine on his burnt skin with a minimal amount of him cringing, then loosely wrap significantly less bandage around his hands. At least now he can partially use them, instead of looking like a lobster.

“I don’t like it either,” he says.

“What are you talking about?” I start putting stuff away, albeit a little slowly, as he continues.

“I don’t like it. I don’t like waking up without you.”

“Well, what are we going to do about it?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “Not right now. But it’s definitely something we should figure out.”

I sigh. I smile, I chuckle, and he talks me through finishing fixing the stove before we take our broken selves to bed. Before we fall asleep, I show him the listing for the house I'm looking at. It's so domestic, it almost hurts.

* * *

_ Mac—_

_LAY. HIM. OUT. I don’t care if he’s bigger than you. I’m glad. Good for you. …_

_If this whole thing doesn’t work out, I’ll enlist again. Seriously. If you plan on sticking around, and you need an overwatch, I’ll come back. I’m over there about as much as I used to be anyway. …_

_The most I can do right now though is see if I can get another assignment in Afghanistan. I’ll talk to my boss. She’s not very accommodating, but it’s worth a shot. It’s worth anything to see you._

_Harps, October 25, 2011_


	8. Mid-January

_MacGyver—_

_I am fine. I want to make that very clear before I continue, okay? I’ve been grounded for a little while in LA. Got shot during an operation. I mean, through and through, clean shot, I’m fine. My op failed, but I saved about a dozen people by taking a bullet to the shoulder, so maybe it’s a Pyrrhic victory?…_

_Is there something specific you crave when you’re overseas? For me, it was always good pancakes. Not the shitty thin kind. Oh my God, a huge breakfast with everything. Sorry to bring up food, I’m sure you’re struggling as much as I did. Maybe we can meet up sometime. There’s this diner in Boston with the best breakfasts. …_

_… I had a date this week. Totally FUBAR. I don’t know why I try. Got any tips? …_

_Listen, I know you don’t need me to remind you, but please be safe. I’m not surprised you’re ending up in EOD, but I don’t like it. I mean, it’s perfect for you, you’re smart as hell, but just… ugh. I don’t like it._

_Just… send me a letter when you can. You know if I could come back and be your overwatch, I would. I have sniped three tangos from a colonial fort with two bullets before. Consider that my audition._

_Harper_, _July 24, 2009_

_P.S. That last part was probably TS-SCI. Just don’t mention it to anyone. _

* * *

“I’m fine. I don’t know what it is about you and Jack thinking I’m not fine. It’s a gunshot wound. We’ve had like, seven between the two of us at this point.”

“Not the point,” I say, pointing at a parking space I finally found in West Hollywood. “That’s not the damn point, Mac. He shot you. Murdoc actually saved your life. What kind of bullshit is that?”

He rolls his eyes as he parks his Jeep, then starts to help me out of the car.

“You know I appreciate you taking me to breakfast, but again, I’m not crippled or in a wheelchair or something.”

“Not the point!” I repeat, opening the door for him to slip into the tiny coffee shop. “We deserve this.”

“You’re stuck on that diner thing again, aren’t you?” He says, sitting down in the table in the corner. He lets me have the seat where I can see the entrance.

“You promised me we would go back to Boston,” I accuse. I order us both coffee, and he just smirks over the menu. “For now, I’m using Ed’s as a proxy.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I do.” I lower my voice. “Mac, you got shot. The least I can do is buy you some cheap diner food.”

“It’s nice to be treated to a date every once in a while,” he says, teasing me.

“Too bad you’re always ‘on a business trip’,” I say, holding up bunny ears.

“After all this business with my dad, we’ll go. I promise. I hold up my promises.” His voice goes quiet, and I know he really means it this time.

“I know you do. I know you do, Mac.”

“Don’t get all soft on me, Harps.”

* * *

_Harper,_

_You know something? I don’t like letters that start out with “I’m fine” and end with “I got shot”. Normal people don’t have these kinds of conversations. I know this friendship is a couple of months old, but I don’t want my friends getting shot, okay? …_

_… Next time, explain to me why your date went FUBAR, and maybe I can help. I don’t understand why it would have gone wrong. You seemed positively normal in Boston. Oh, wait… I’m just kidding. Seriously. If they don’t appreciate you, you’re not looking for the right type of person…._

_You, me, and a diner breakfast in LA, okay? I know it’s not Boston, but at least we’d be together. Hopefully neither of us is shot at that point._

_ Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. _

_MacGyver, August 5, 2009_


	9. Late February

_Mac—_

_Can I just take a minute to… to rant? I’m just telling you right now, this isn’t going to be the most pleasant letter. I just. I know we have this rule that we only write but I could really… I just wish I could hear your voice right now._

_You know what I do. You know well enough now, after a year and a half of these letters and veiled classified comments and locations, you have at least an idea of my job. It’s not an easy one, it’s a thankless one, but you get it. I operate alone, overseas, and frequently get hurt. You’re not under any illusions._

_I’ve been hunting this… this assassin. He’s constantly evading me, and we think a bunch of his hits are connected, and sometimes we have a bit of information where he might be going, so I was in Dubai. I just… I tried so hard to stop him, but he killed the mark. I never even saw his face. I can’t even identify him._

_Mac, I don’t even know how he got to me. One minute I was tailing him, the next…_

_I don’t know if I’ve ever been hit this bad. I just got out of the hospital. I was there for a few days. Concussion, broken hand. A few bruised ribs. I don’t know how long I laid in that damn alley in Deira._

_I wish… I wish you could be here with me. I would take a couple hours, to be honest. Just. I hate being alone at Christmas, but I’ve been alone for… <strike>God, I miss you</strike>._

_I’m just so tired._

_Harps, December 22, 2010_

* * *

I stare out into the water. It looks inviting, even though it’s probably too cold, even now.

With this shitty weather, there’s no one on the beach. It’s kind of nice, especially since I don’t even really like the beach, but this is the best place I could think of at the time to help stave off the intrusive thoughts.

This past week has been a nightmare. Not because of something Mac was going through, not this time; the agony of memory threatened to overtake any goodness he could possibly provide right now.

Three and a half days. Three and a half days I waited for them to come find me.

It’s cold for Los Angeles. When the sun isn’t out, and it’s struggling to rain, people disappear. It’s like a ghost town. It lets me imagine I’m in a ghost town for once. Venice Beach could practically close.

I pull my sweatshirt closer to me, although it’s not doing much to help stave off the cold.

The cold. I can still feel it, running deep in my veins.

I can’t believe it’s been a year. A full year since Siberia. With all the million things that had happened since then, it felt like a caricature of a life. This one feels like the real one. Finally.

My name is called over the beach, and I hear the voice start to get closer. It’s not until Mac finally appears next to me that I can acknowledge his presence.

“C’mon. You’re soaked. You’re gonna get a cold or something.”

I can only focus on the grey ocean. Grey sky, grey ocean, grey everything. The monochrome feels safe. It’s something I know.

He speaks again, but it’s not towards me. “No, I found her. She’s at the beach. I’ll call you back.”

“You know, I hallucinated you.” My voice sounds rough. I realize I had been crying. “I hallucinated you when we met. Like I was reliving it. Every word, every line. I wanted to tell you so badly, but I couldn’t, like a nightmare I couldn’t get out of. And then… when I had decided to die, when I decided to just… just go into the light, leave it all behind, I see you. It was you. I thought it was a trick. I thought my brain was just… giving me something to hold on to before I… before I died. And then I saw Rio, and it was like… I got one more chance. You are the only reason I’m still alive. I think I’m out of chances, Mac. I think I’m done getting the… the chances.”

Like a cinematic scene, the rain kicks up again. The water crests at my bare feet. Everything is wet, cold, grey. It just forces the image of Siberia back into my head.

But Mac steps in front of me, cutting my image of the snow-ocean in half. He’s in blue. He’s always in blue. It’s the only color I see.

“I should have asked,” he says quietly. “I never asked. You’re always asking me if I’m… if I’m doing okay, and I’ve never truly asked you. And don’t try to tell me you’re fine when you’re clearly not fine.”

“I’m just so tired,” I whisper.

He pulls me close. “You don’t deserve to feel like this. Why don’t I get you home, and… and we can get you warm again?”

“I’m fine,” I begin, but he cuts me off. I take a deep breath. He smells like detergent and grease and the ghost-scent of a burnt match.

“You are not fine. You haven’t been fine in a while, have you? Dammit, this is my fault—”

“This has never been your fault,” I immediately say. “It’s your fault I’m alive. And that’s all I’ll take from you.”

He forces me to look at him. I let myself sob. It’s coming out of me before I can make a conscious decision to stop. That’s what I was always doing: making a conscious decision to stop. Maybe, just maybe, it’s fine if I show a little bit of weakness. But I’m still learning.

Mac, I think, realizes this. But he’s patient and kind and understanding and deserves to have me at my best, not this. But if he stays by my side during this, then maybe I deserve him, too.

He starts to lead me towards his Jeep and I let him, as long as his fingers are entwined in mine.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” He says. “You can talk to me.”

“I know,” I say quietly. “It’s just… it’s a lot.”

“I’m good with a lot. I’m fantastic with a lot. I just… I wish I could help you more.”

“You already are.”

He takes me home, even though I’m still in the haze of memories. We dry off, and we spend the rest of day in bed, warm, curled up in the covers, listening to the raindrops on the roof and reading the letters we sent to each other.

I forget about Siberia for a while.

* * *

_Harps—_

_When are you gonna learn to not get in fights? I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. Hey. What do you always end up telling me? You’re doing your best? So are you. You can’t anticipate every hit. That’s humanly impossible. …_

_You can do this. It may not be today, or this year even, but I know you can. Because you’re good at what you do and you’re a good person. He’s gotta make a bad step at some point, and you (or me. I volunteer) will kick his ass. …_

_I hate hearing about how you’re hurt. I wish I could be there to help. I could say that over and over again until it were true. Just stay optimistic, and maybe I’ll get some leave. We can be together soon, okay?_

_ I miss you too. _

_ Mac, December 26, 2010_


	10. Mid-April

_Mac—_

_I’ve known you for over two years now. Yeah, I know, we’ve only physically met once, but I don’t think that matters, right? Confession: I tried to go out on a date today. One of the tac team guys, Carter, tried to set me up with his friend—a civilian, I might add—Jackie Guerrero. She was nice. She was boring. I made a joke, saying her name sounded like Gennero… she’s never seen _Die Hard. _I’m not calling her again._

_I mean, like, it shouldn’t be this hard? I mean, all I want is a good person. Humorous, smart, can either handle a weapon or keep themselves safe in a gunfight. Someone that’s gonna understand that if I don’t make it home at night, I’m not leaving them or cheating or anything. I might just be… well, you know, saving the world. Someone who’s going to cherish every moment we get. Someone who’s gonna have my back, no matter what. Someone I can tell the truth to, no matter how bad it hurts. A friend first, then a lover. Best friend, backup, overwatch._

_Someone that’s gonna listen to me rant. Someone who’s not always a world away from me._

_I miss you. God, you’re too young for me, but for some goddamn reason, I can’t seem to let you go. You’re the only one who gets it. You’ve always been the only one who really gets it. Not even Jack really ever got it. I guess we’re just too damaged to live life like we’re supposed to._

_I’m not sending this letter. maybe someday I’ll get rid of it. I’ll just put it in the box with the others._

_Harps, unsent, December 2011_

* * *

_Mac—_

_I hope you’re not wasting all your free time on me. You should be making friends, writing letters to your girl. Wait,_

_Sorry, I was falling asleep. You know what? You don’t have to say anything. Just let me know how you’re doing. Do you need anything?_

_Hope you’re doing okay. Haven’t heard from you in a while. I mean, I know it’s the sandbox, but… I’m rambling. Just let me know if you’re okay._

_Harps, December 19, 2011_

* * *

While I begged Matty to be put on this… well, assignment, I’m already exhausted. I mean, it’s been six months. I can put my weight on my leg now, I can hobble around, but like hell can I do anything physical. But I reminded her that they needed a project manager, and that I was good at that, and I could easily direct people on what to do from the ground.

So that’s exactly what I’m doing. I lean onto my cane, even though I really don’t need it anymore, it’s still a welcome addition as we struggle to build a house in the middle of Puerto Rico.

All I know is that Carlos was Mac’s friend, and they met in basic training. I knew I had to do whatever I could to help.

After climbing into the truck bed, I look over the blueprints. I had done a lot of Googling on how to read blueprints on the way here, and while it was very helpful, I didn’t need people yelling at me for directions all the time.

A very pleased Puerto Rican on crutches arrives, looking up to his nearly sided house. He starts talking to Carter, and I overhear the conversation:

“I’m looking for a guy named Harper? A… Sergeant AJ Harper? Former Delta? I wanna talk to him.”

“Oh, well, you’re gonna have a rude awakening,” he says, nodding his head towards me. I quickly look away, re-rolling the sleeves of the plaid shirt of Mac’s I had stolen. “She’s over there.”

I quickly blow some of the hair back from my face before he approaches, slowly. I readjust in the truck bed, stretching my leg out in front of me.

“I hear you’re AJ Harper,” he says, his accented voice sounding a bit like a song. It makes me smile a little.

“I hear you’re making assumptions you shouldn’t,” I say with a wink.

“Carlos Vázquez,” he says, leaning against the truck and giving me his hand. I shake it and he gives me a wide smile. “So, you’re the former Delta soldier who wrote to Mac throughout basic, but you’re also the girl he wrote to all the time?”

“Guilty.”

“He never told me they were the same person.”

“I never really wanted him to,” I explain, giving up on my hair and pulling it out of the ponytail to fix it. “But hey, here we are.”

“Everything you sent, he shared, you know.”

I use one of my pencils as chopsticks to secure my hair. I didn’t really know, but I’m not surprised, to say the least. “That sounds just like Mac.”

He gets quiet for a second, looking over his soon to be finished house. “How long have you two…”

“Known each other for… nine years now,” I explain. He gives me a look, including a raised eyebrow. “Together for…” I do the math. “About a year. So, Green Berets?”

He pulls himself up onto the truck bed. “So, Delta?”

Both of us just size each other up for a second before laughing. “Sounds about right.”

“Well, I appreciate you coming down to help.”

“Not that I can do much,” I explain, gesturing towards my leg. It looks pretty innocuous at this point, but the long scars are enough.

“I can relate. What happened to you?”

I straighten. “Oh, well, uh. Mission went horribly wrong last… last August. Ended up getting a pin in my leg. Hoping I've only got about a month left. Mac… he told me what happened to you. He scared the shit out of me, telling me, but he told me.”

“He tends to do that. Goes a little rogue.”

“What was he like in basic?”

“A little bitch,” he says instinctively. I laugh so hard for a second that I snort, and he continues. “He argued with everybody, at every chance he got! It’s a miracle he got through in the first place.”

“He’s still a little bitch,” I say. “Still love him for it.”

* * *

Two days later, I’m back at home in the Hills, trying to make it a little more presentable for the boys when they make it home. I’m glad I’m there, because the door creaks open, and I only find Mac. He wanders in, almost shuffling.

“Hey!” I call out, limping in from the living room. “How was Pakistan?”

“Well, it’s still in one piece,” he says, looking up to me. His left eye is surrounded by dark purple, almost down his cheek; his lip is split, and he breathes hard.

“What the fuck, Mac?! What the—”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he mutters. “It was Puerto Rico. The bank robbery.”

“You didn’t tell me!” I cry, heading towards the fridge to get a couple ice packs.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he mutters, but I point towards his couch.

“So this was already over when you called me?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Dammit, Mac,” I mutter, sitting down on the coffee table in front of him. It’s a familiar feeling, but it’s not one I particularly like. “Here, put this on your eye.”

He tries to mumble something, probably his level of ‘fine’ to me, but I ignore him.

“I already had medical check me out,” he mutters. “I don’t even have any cracked ribs this time. Just bruised.”

“Are the people who did this to you in jail?” I ask.

“Yeah—”

“Where?”

“I… I don’t know?”

“Find out. I wanna kill them,” I say. “You should ice your ribs, too.”

He grumbles, so I unbutton his plaid shirt, one of many, then lift up his henley underneath. There’s a significant amount of bruising on his left side, so I place the ice pack there. He cringes, but he knows I’m right.

“Bozer told me you had a little… meeting with Leanna.”

“I did. It’s not important.”

“And then Riles told me you FaceTimed Billy.”

I just glare at him.

“Did you threaten the significant others of our friends?”

“I may have given some… warnings about not hurting either of them.”

He lets go of the ice pack and pulls out his phone. “And I quote, from Bozer: ‘apparently, Gray met with her and told her that she had “almost died twice in the past year and Hell still didn’t want (her), so watch yourself, and (she) won’t have to bring the angel of death to your bedside”.’ What the hell, AJ?”

“I’m making sure Leanna knows I’m the alpha.”

“I think you made that intensely clear,” he says. “And what about Billy? You didn’t mince words with him, did you?”

“No, I told him I knew six ways to kill him without leaving a trace. But I was tired that night, and couldn’t wax philosophical. So I went straight to the point. I think he liked that.”

“Neither of them liked it.”

“Had to be done.”

“No, it didn’t!” He says emphatically, but then he cringes. I can tell although he wants to be mad, he can’t.

“Seriously, Mac. How do you feel?”

“I’m at about a five,” he says. He drops his hand and glares at me, so I stand up, take the ice pack, and hold it gently to his eye. “I could be at a four.”

“Oh? How can I make that happen?”

Gently, almost reverently, he touches my hips and pulls me to his lap. It’s becoming his M.O., but I’m strangely okay with it.

“How about now?”

“Solid four.”

“I wonder if we could make it a three?” I suggest, pulling the ice pack away from his eye. He kisses me, ignoring his cracked lips, holding me there until I’m gasping for breath.

“How are you feeling?” He whispers, resting his forehead against mine.

“I’m great. Your friend Carlos didn’t know I was a chick. We hit it off.”

“I know, he told me. He loves you now, by the way.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Leanna and Billy, apparently.” He chuckles, he cringes, but he doesn’t seem to regret it. He just peers up at me like he’s seeing me for the first time again.

“Oh, dammit, Mac, take me to bed or lose me forever.”

He pulls me back to him and kisses me deeply before breaking it abruptly. “Did you just quote _Top Gun?_”

“Uh, duh.”

“Then show me the way home, honey.”

* * *

_I’ve got a scrap piece of paper that’s not even worth a letter, so instead, a list of things I wish I could say to you:_

  * _I never thought anyone would ever want to talk to me about chaos theory._
  * _I can’t believe we’ve gotten so close just over a year of letters._
  * _I hate whenever you tell me about the dates you go on, but I’m almost happy when they fail._
  * _But I want you to be happy_
  * _I still don’t know what “gone to Chelsea” means and at this point I’m too afraid to ask_
  * _Why do you keep writing to me? You’re the equivalent of a spy, bouncing around the world, and I’m an Army EOD tech five and half years younger than you_
  * _I hope you miss me like I miss you._

_Mac, unsent, August 2010_

* * *

_Harps,_

_… It’s been kind of boring out here lately. I know I shouldn’t say that, that I’m just asking for trouble, but I’m gonna say it. It’s… boring. My brain is eating itself. …_

_I wish I could be there to give you a birthday gift. I mean, I’m poor as hell and I’m overseas, but I could give it a try. Maybe someday we’ll be together…._

_Just be safe, and happy birthday._

_Mac, September 5, 2010_


	11. Early May

_AJ,_

_Don’t know if this will get to you. I haven’t heard from you in two weeks and I’m starting to get worried. …_

_I found out something kind of insane—you know how I’ve told you about my overwatch? Apparently he knows you extremely well. We just never made the connection. Jack Dalton. …._

_So he tells this story, and calls you Harper, and I don’t know what my face did but he called me out on it. He said Thea Harper, I said AJ, and suddenly you were the same person._

_There are days when I really think chaos theory is at work between us, you know? Although Jack was an asshole when I met him, he’s definitely one of the reasons I’ve stayed so long. Kinda feel like it was the universe giving me just another connection to you. I always say there’s no such thing as coincidences. There’s a reason we met in Boston. I think I’m starting to figure out why._

_Mac, January 10, 2012_

* * *

_Mac—_

_I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve been trying to contact you, but nothing seems to be getting through. Do I have the right address? Did… did something happen? Please drop me a line or something. I need to know if you’re okay. …_

_They’re going to be sending me on some long missions soon. I don’t know when I’m going to be able to send you letters, but I want to make sure you’re fine before I go._

_Please. You’re the only one I have anymore. You’re the only one I trust._

_Harps, March 21, 2012_

* * *

I don’t dare go in. He told me not to, and I hadn’t been summoned in by Matty, but there’s no way I can go inside right now. I won’t be able to keep it together.

I understand his decision. I hate his decision, but I know he has to do it. He just told me to wait for him outside of Phoenix. I know something went down, I know he’s still going to quit, but he’s been gone for too long.

I have a feeling there’s more to it than just that.

I can’t even read his face as he storms out of the glass double doors of Phoenix. It’s somewhere between frustration, and fear, and confusion, and betrayal.

“Just go,” he says, slipping on what’s become his motorcycle helmet.

“Where?”

“I don’t care. Get out of here.”

I start up my Bonnie and we’re off. I don’t know what our destination is. Before I realize it, we’re hurtling down the 5, weaving in and out of traffic as we run. We’re really just running from our problems. Both of us, whether I would like to admit it or not.

It’s the last letters. I found them yesterday, while he was gone, and I don’t want to hit him with this too, I feel like I have to. I have to.

I make a turn into the park, passing the Greek Theatre as Mac renews his grip on me. I hit the switchbacks a little too fast, and I can’t bring myself to care, as we hit the tunnel and I gain speed. He has to know where we’re going at this point. We keep going up, up, into the park, switchback after switchback, ascending to the top. I park in the lot, and wordlessly, he gets off with me. I still can’t read his face, and I don’t know if I’m meant to.

We walk along the sidewalk at the end of the earth. That’s what it looks like, anyway. There’s a huge drop off, and in the background, stark white against the green and brown and grey, is the Hollywood sign.

He slips his hand into mine. I look down as he does, and after a minute, he stops me from walking.

“It wasn’t Matty’s fault,” he begins, looking out into the wilderness. “She… she sent me to Oversight to quit, and that’s how I ended up on a 36 hour trip helping… helping out my dad.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oversight is James MacGyver,” he says, letting go of me and leaning on the fence. “I can’t work for someone I can’t trust. I told you that. I just thought it was Matty. She was the one sending me all those clues. But my dad… he’s been here the entire time.”

“Your dad… is Oversight?” I say dumbly. “For how long?”

“The entire time,” he repeats.

“Your dad is Oversight. How does that… what…” I lean onto the railing as well. I can’t wrap my head around this. I don’t think I’m meant to. “Mac. Oversight sent me to Siberia. He… he sent me to my death.”

“He’s done a lot of questionable things.”

“Do you think he knew?”

“I think he knows about us. I think he knows everything. But I’m not sticking around there to find out.”

“So you actually quit?” I ask. He just nods.

“I hate it,” I say. “I hate it, and I know I told you this, but I get it. I get why you had to do it. I just… I’m terrified.”

“Terrified?” He turns back to face me. “Terrified of what?”

“I… it’s… it’s just gonna sound super unimportant compared to what you just told me.”

“Just tell me.”

“I don’t want this to change anything between us,” I say, unable to sound like anyone but a whiny teenager. I hate myself after it comes out.

He just scoffs. “What makes you think it will?”

“I mean… it’s just…” The tears already threaten to fall. I hate myself still, but I can’t begin to even make them stop. “I really can’t lose you again.”

“Again?”

I grasp his hand, pulling him towards the center of the courtyard. Near the statue. The one I remember seeing in my coma dreams. Rambling dreams. I’m rambling now. Once we get to the sundial, though, I pull the crumpled piece of paper from my leather jacket.

“I found these,” I say. I hold up a pair of envelopes. I’ve opened them both. “I was going through boxes as I was moving—”

“You bought the house?” He adds quietly. “I didn’t even know.”

I brush it off. One issue at a time. “I found these. These are the last ones we sent. The ones that bitch stole. I… I read them, Mac. I made the mistake of reading them.”

“Why was it a mistake—”

I practically rip the first one pulling it from the envelope. “This is from you to me, dated April 12, 2012. It’s long, but you’re telling me about how you’re coming back to LA. But you haven’t heard from me in months. In this letter, she had stopped them for… for months. Here. Here’s what you said: ‘Please be okay. I think this is going to be the last time I try. So if I did something wrong, or pissed you off, or if you’re okay, it doesn’t matter. Meet me at Griffith Observatory, by the sundial. May 5 at 3 p.m. I need to talk to you. I need to see you. I don’t care if you’re going to yell at me. Just… please be there. Please. We need to talk. I have a lot to tell you.’”

He smiles. He remembers writing it, I think.

“But. But! Here’s the kicker. Here’s the… here’s the shitty part. The other one, that’s the one I wrote two days later to you. You know what I said?” My voice starts to quaver. I can’t let it, but it’s going to happen at this point. I can’t stop it. “‘Just let me know if you’re okay. I’m going to throw one more Hail Mary into the ether. If you’re in LA, come to Griffith Observatory. I know you like that kind of thing. May… May 8? 10 a.m.? If you’re not in LA, at least throw me a line. Something. I don’t even know if this is the right address anymore. I’m going to copy it and send it to your home address. You’re still in the Hills, right? God, please. Just don’t be dead.’”

I can see the color drain from his face.

“Dammit, Mac. This is what I don’t want to lose. We… we were so close for so long, constantly living in near misses. I don’t want that again. I don’t want near misses. I just don’t want to lose you again.”

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he says. “I don’t half ass things. You should know that.”

“I do. I do know that. But it doesn’t stop me from being completely and utterly terrified. And now I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I can trust Oversight either, but Mac… I can’t just walk away. I can’t. I don’t have the same skill set as you do. I’m not valuable or, or—”

“Yes, you are. I don’t want to hear that bullshit from you. You’re valuable. And I’m not going to walk away from you.”

He does manage to make me smile.

“Wanna know the irony of these letters?” He asks, taking the papers from my hands.

“What’s the irony?”

“May 5? That’s our anniversary.”

“Our anniversary?” I scoff. “What makes you say that?”

“That was the day we played laser tag. The day we had our talk about us. When we stopped fighting the inevitable.”

“The day we finally gave in?” I say, raising my eyebrow at him.

“That was a result, yes, but I still think that was the turning point.”

“Mac, there’s something else I wanted to mention.”

“What’s that?”

“Today’s May 5.”

Like he had lost a few days, he has to look up and think about it, until he chuckles in realization.

“You… you’re right. How did I miss this?”

“Hey, I didn’t even know we had an anniversary, so you’ve got me beat there. So. What are you gonna do now? You found your dad. You’ve got me. You’re going to be job hunting…”

“I may need some time away,” he confesses. “You’re going to have to let me have some time, okay?”

I nod. It’s his way of dealing with things. I can’t question it. “Hey, it is our anniversary,” I say, taking another step towards him. He responds in kind. “We can do something you always want to do.”

“Oh? Yeah, I’d be good with that—”

“Shut up, I’m talking about the observatory. We’ve talked about it for years, but never got to go.”

He glances at the building beyond, then back to me.

“I’ve got to do one thing first.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve got to do what I was going to do here six years ago.”

He draws me close, kissing me like he did the first time, and every time after that. And I kiss him back.

* * *

_AJ,_

_… I plan on heading back to LA. There’s this organization I’m joining. Sounds kind of similar to what you’ve been doing. I’m hoping there’s room for both me and Jack. We’re both looking to transfer in._

_With my skill set, at this point, what else am I going to do? I can make a real difference there._

_I hope this letter isn’t just dead space. It’s been months since I’ve heard from you. I’m starting to get scared. I’m just not sure anyone would know to tell me if something happened to you._

_Please be okay. I think this is going to be the last time I try. So if I did something wrong, or pissed you off, or if you’re okay, it doesn’t matter. Meet me at Griffith Observatory, by the sundial. May 5 at 3 p.m. I need to talk to you. I need to see you. I don’t care if you’re going to yell at me. Just… please be there. Please. We need to talk. I have a lot to tell you. <strike>I love you.</strike>_

_Mac, April 12, 2012_

* * *

_Mac—_

_Maybe this is a lost cause. Maybe something happened, and… I don’t want to think about it. Please. This is the last letter I’m going to send. I can’t do it anymore. If I said something, if I hurt you in some way, please just let me know and I’ll stop. I just can’t deal with the not knowing. …_

_I’m going to talk to my boss. I might try to hit up my friend from Delta, I don’t know. I just want some answers. I want to know what happened to you. I hope it’s not what I think happened. I hope…._

_Please don’t be dead. I can’t be the reason… please, just let me know where you are, if you’re okay… I just can’t not know._

_I know there’s no such thing as coincidences. You tell me that at least monthly. Well, you used to. I don’t think it’s a coincidence we met. I think there may be a higher power at work, or… or…_

_I don’t know. You’re the smart one. Just let me know if you’re okay. I’m going to throw one more Hail Mary into the ether. If you’re in LA, come to Griffith Observatory. I know you like that kind of thing. May… May 8? 10 a.m.? If you’re not in LA, at least throw me a line. Something. I don’t even know if this is the right address anymore. I’m going to copy it and send it to your home address. You’re still in the Hills, right? God, please. Just don’t be dead. <strike>I love you.</strike> I miss you._

_ Harps, April 14, 2012_


End file.
